Playing With Fire
by awelsh
Summary: When Stiles got himself involved in Derek's world the brooding wolf man hated it - Stiles was the most annoying person on earth. But as circumstances throw the two of them together they have to overcome their issues to help their friends; all of whom seem hell bent on self destruction. Some dark themes, some smut, some fluff - a bit of everything really. AU-ish.
1. Wet Dreams

**Disclaimers all apply, as usual, I own nothing bar a few minor OC characters. ****Rated M for the good stuff.**

**This story came about from one of my others 'Like a Breath of Spring You Came' which was inspired by the fantastic Oler et Luna, go check her out if you haven't already, she's amazing! **

**I was on a Stiles/Isaac kick, but eventually I shifted back to my two main loves: Stiles and Derek, so I used the general idea for LABOSYC and shifted it to accommodate my main men. ****It's long, and will contain multiple story arcs that eventually come together, you just have to wait for it. ****Everyone you know and love is here, though they may do things slightly differently, so I guess you could consider this AU-ish.**

**I don't have a beta, but I'm finicky about proof-reading my work, so there should be a minimum of mistakes. If you find any please let me know so I can correct them.**

**Enjoy, if you have any constructive criticism ****(or just pure word-bashing)** don't be afraid to let me know.

* * *

**I**

**Stiles**

**February**

"Kiss me, Derek." Stiles mumbled into Derek's hair, closing his eyes as the feeling of his neck being gently sucked and bitten overcame him. They were naked, on a bed of white in a room of such blinding light it should have been painful, but it was perfect. Derek was kissing every inch of his body, running his hands over his crotch for just a second before he was gone.

"Derek..." Stiles groaned out as his hardness was enveloped in the warmth of the older man's mouth. Stubble was mixing with the hairs at the base of his crotch, his ass was being squeezed with a pair of strong hands, his legs were writhing under Derek's abs.

"_Ah!_" He cried out as Derek brought him to orgasm, kissing his way back up Stiles' body to linger over his lips. He needed Derek to kiss him, in all their times together the man never kissed his lips; every inch of his body was fair game save those two strips of wanting red. "Kiss me..."

"Dude, I'm not kissing you." Derek's lips weren't moving. Huh? "Stiles!"

"No, kiss me." Stiles panted out again, pulling Derek down onto him, trying to catch his head. Every time their lips were about to touch Derek moved, turning his head into Stiles' neck and kissing there instead, distracting him by running fingers over his stomach.

"Stiles! Wake up!" _No! _It couldn't be, not again.

"Say you want me." Stiles told Derek, catching his face between his fingers. The stubble felt nice, he wanted it on his face, wanted to get beard-burn over and over again.

"I want you – to wake up." The annoying voice that did _not _belong to Derek said. Something was shaking him, or the world was shaking, it was hard to be sure. He must have been having a panic attack again, Derek was just looking down at him with a smirk on his face as he thrashed about on the impossibly white sheets beneath him.

Lips were coming towards his own, lips that were so beautiful it hurt. He wanted to make love to Derek all day long, to kiss him until his bones turned to dust, to love him and make sure he was safe. They were almost there, just about to connect with his...

_"What the fuck?!" _Stiles screamed, feeling a torrent of ice colliding with his face, his head jolting up from the sheets. There was no Derek. Just his own dimly lit bedroom with rain streaming down the glass, and a grinning Scott leering over him.

"Dude, finally. You kept telling me to freaking kiss you." Scott guffawed, putting the empty glass of water he had used to wake Stiles onto the dresser and throwing himself down into the computer chair for a few spins.

"Wha – huh?" Stiles spluttered, praying and hoping with every fibre of his being that Scott hadn't heard him utter Derek's name. Lately he had been dreaming about the wolf every night, waking up with a mess in his pants... _oh. _A quick glance under the sheets and a lift of the waistband of his pyjama pants revealed it had happened again.

"You don't remember? You kept telling me to kiss you and say I wanted you. What were you dreaming about anyway?" The realisation that he could have walked in on Stiles having a little more than a regular dream seemed to hit Scott then, spinning around in his chair so Stiles didn't see the blush on his face.

Stiles used Scott's turn to bolt from the bed, hands covering his crotch as he ran so the embarrassing wet stain couldn't be revealed. The product of his own, twisted mind was washed away under the hot torrent of water that was his morning shower, trying to keep thoughts of that leather clad wolf out of his mind.

Derek Hale. Derek god damn Hale. He had been in Stiles' mind for months, invading his thoughts at the most inopportune moments and forcing the ability to so much as speak to vanish. The man was _not _supposed to be in his dreams. Especially in some of the scenarios he created, scenarios that made him shiver with how _wrong _while making him hard simultaneously. There was a particularly interesting one involving pancakes coated in maple syrup, which Derek was licking from some _very _intimate parts of his, while Lydia sat naked on his chest. _Fuck! _

There was nothing for it, he had to beat another load out. If he didn't take care of the situation going on he would be hard as a rock all day. The memories of his dreams made him so hard it hurt, furiously pumping his growth to thoughts of Derek slipping inside him while Lydia eased Stiles' inside of her, all three of them a mess of limbs in that blinding white room where his dreams always took place.

_"Ah – ah – oh..." _Stiles panted as he came for the second time that morning, resting his head against the tiles, panting as the juices were washed away by the torrent of water.

"Stiles! What are you doing in there?" Scott was rapping on the door, sending Stiles into a post-orgasm panic that resulted in a very broken shower curtain from him falling into it, landing with a painful _thud _on the tiled floor.

"Um – just a minute!" Stiles replied, removing the clinging curtain from around his body and replacing it with a towel. By the time he had brushed his teeth, flossed, applied deodorant, and made his way back to his room, Scott was tapping his feet impatiently on the floor.

"We're gonna be late." He pointed out, looking pointedly at the clock on his phone before he held it out so Stiles could gauge just how late they would be.

"I know, I know, put a sock in it will ya'?" He dressed quickly, shooting a goodbye to his dad before he and Scott bundled into his jeep and set off for school. Scott was quiet, looking lost in his thoughts, so Stiles let himself think of Derek again. _No! _The man was even more unattainable than Lydia was, plus he felt... _strange _having dreams about two people who were so different, but both sent him into a lust craze every time he thought of them.

If he was honest, Derek was the one who sent him into the lust craze. Lydia had her tricks, or at least she did in his dreams, but when he thought of her he thought about hugging her and kissing her and buying her presents. It was extremely rare that he felt those thoughts with regard to Derek, it was more like a non-stop sex marathon.

"Watch out!" Scott shoved Stiles' shoulder, his quick work the only thing that stopped the blue jeep from running down a blonde figure stood in the middle of the parking lot.

"Watch it, Isaac!" Stiles shouted out of the window as he pulled up and headed into school, jogging and holding his book above his head to stop the rain getting at him, Scott hot on his heels.

* * *

Stiles hated math class. Or more specifically, he had _began _hating it three weeks ago. It wasn't because he was bad at it or anything like that, equations and triangles were no problem – usually, and there no way on earth could Stiles actually be _failing _a class. It was because of the insistence of the substitute teacher on rearranging them into neat rows of boy/girl pairings. Her intention had been to stop the incessant chatter of the class, and, at least with Stiles, she had managed it beautifully.

She was in his dreams, and now she was next to him. The only way the situation could have been worse was if Derek was on his other side. Every movement of her hand to brush back the auburn locks, every time she widened her eyes when asked a question, every time she crossed and uncrossed her legs to try and get comfortable on the awkward stools, it all set Stiles' heart racing. He was convinced the universe knew about his thoughts, his dreams, his desires for the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, picking out Lydia Martin from the fifteen-or-so other girls in the class and planting her right _there _just to torture him. Right beside him, just a few inches away. He could smell her hair and her perfume, could see the little speck of lint marring the tight sweater that barely contained the swell of her breasts.

The lint was so freaking distracting that it almost sent Stiles over the edge. He'd taken his Adderall and everything, sure, but at that moment he wouldn't have said no to another fifty of the little orange capsules to try and focus his insanity-driven mind on _anything _other than Lydia Martin. It was such a small distance between them that it almost _hurt_; he was so close to her, but emotionally she was as far away as the moon. If he just broached those few inches he could lean over and pluck the lint from her sweater, could create a bond between them as she smiled and thanked him, finally noticing what an amazing guy was sitting right in front of her. They would kiss long and passionately as the classroom erupted into cheers around them, he'd swoop her off her feet and carry her away to a tower where they would make love all day long and feed each other little bits of bacon and pancakes and omelettes and an array of delicious breakfast foods. The enigma that was Derek Hale would be banished from his thoughts forever if he could just get Lydia – he needed her. But he didn't lean over to clean her sweater and make his dreams come true; the threat of sexual molestation charges was a little more important than making sure Lydia was clean.

"Stilinski?" When he finally tore his eyes from Lydia the entire class was silent, countless little eyes baring into his soul, the teacher's brown pupils being the worst of all, her hand on one hip, the other rolling a pen around in her hand. _Her freaking ugly claw more like._

"Huh?" Laughter erupted around the room at his words.

"Looks like we've lost another." She grinned at her favourites, which of course included Lydia, who smiled back sweetly as the teacher pointed – _with her disgusting, mangled hand –_ to the other student in the class who was totally out of it.

"So what is the length of the hypotenuse, Stilinski?" He hated how she called him by his last name, reminding him of Coach or Jackson or Greenberg. Everyone who wanted to show how above him they were used his last name. _Assholes._

He just sat there, his mouth hanging open, looking down at his book and realising the page was totally blank save for a tiny drawing of a wolf in the corner, _Fuck! _Even subconsciously he was thinking of Derek, for he had no recollection of making the drawing. Had he done it while staring at Lydia? What was it with those two?! Pulling himself from those unwanted thoughts to glance at Lydia's book, he got the confirmation of just how behind he was; two pages of neat equations in black ink with perfect little triangles here and there in pencil.

He didn't have a clue, didn't even know what the lengths of the rest of the triangle were. Was that half-assed attempt at a drawing on the board behind her meant to be an accurate representation? And what were those little numbers that he could hardly make out? It would help if she actually moved so he could see, he knew he could work it out if he wasn't so distracted and this teacher wasn't such a raging bitch.

"It's eight, can we just move on already?" A few students jumped as the class zombie looked up from the folds of his arms, working out the answer with a quick glance at the board.

"Oh, Isaac. Finally decided to join us have you? I told you you could do it." The teacher told the mop of blonde curls with a smirk, nodding for everyone to continue their own work. The glare she shot from Isaac to Stiles went unnoticed by everyone but the three of them; she couldn't stand Isaac.

Stiles wondered why the guy never took part as he started to actually _work_, scribbling down a few triangles in black ink. Every time the teacher attacked some unsuspecting student, bringing the class to silence as said student – today that student being Stiles – squirmed in their seat, mouth opening and closing as they tried to think, Isaac would look up from the folds of whatever jacket was covering his constantly sleeping head, glance at the board, and reel off the answer. No one could punish him, Stiles guessed, because he always got perfect grades on tests and the work in his books always mysteriously appeared by the time parent-teacher night rolled around.

He ripped off a little segment from the page of squared paper and scrawled out _'thanks'_, shooting a glance at the teacher to make sure she wasn't looking before he threw it across the room.

"Yes!" The whisper of satisfaction at landing a hit dead-on made Lydia look up, giving him daggers before returning to her work. Stiles didn't deign to reply to her glare, he just watched as Isaac unfurled the note, looked over it with a bored expression, and returned to sleeping.

_Oh well._ At least he thanked the guy, even if he didn't get a response. "Psst," The words were far more conspicuous than he would have liked, looking at the teacher to make sure she hadn't heard; fortunately she was engaged in an uphill struggle with teaching Greenberg all about equilateral triangles. "Scott!" Another hurried whisper finally caught his best friends attention, turning from the desk in front to look at Stiles.

"What?!" He whispered back in an even more painfully obvious way than Stiles had.

Now that he had Scott's attention Stiles had no idea what to do with it, he hadn't actually formulated a question before he started his little escapade, it was more to kill time and see if he could use his stealth skills to avoid the teacher. "What's for lunch today?" He finally asked. A perfectly reasonable question in his books.

"Shut up." Scott grunted, shaking his head and turning back to his work.

"Will you shut up, you keep distracting me!" Only Lydia could make a furious whisper sound like honey, looking at Stiles properly for the first time all lesson, her eyes wide, a slight flush covering her cheeks from the heat of the room that kept the icy winds and endless rain outside away.

"I – uh – I -" Stiles babbled, quickly turning back to his work. Work meaning gaze at Lydia for so long that his eyes started to hurt, tongue hanging from his mouth, body splayed out awkwardly across the table. He was positive he had been racked by a mini heart attack when Lydia licked her lips, sending him into a spasm that resulted in a very painful fall from his stool.

"And on that note -" The worst-teacher-of-his-life began, gesturing to Stiles to much sniggering from the students, "- I'll let you all go five minutes early." _What a dumb bitch_, Stiles thought to himself as he disentangled his limbs from the stool, dragging himself from the ground and scooping up his book.

* * *

Lunch, as Stiles had so reasonably asked Scott, turned out to be a sick-looking chicken stew, which Stiles gulped down as fast as possible; he'd eat anything, even chicken sick stew. By the time he reached gym just twenty minutes after finishing lunch he was hungry again, stomach crying out for a biscuit or some chocolate that it knew Stiles could always get hold of. He always wanted a sugar fix – especially after practice... and before practice... and during practice. The other boys had came to expect it, hiding their food in case Stiles asked for some, pleading and begging for them to share if they were caught, scolding them for being so selfish, laying on the ground and mock-crying till they relented.

Jackson and his cronies were laughing and joking from the other side of the rather unpleasant smelling locker room, jabbing each other in the ribs and ruffling one anothers hair in such a homoerotic display of friendship that Stiles couldn't contain a snort. Brown eyes scanned the room, wondering who would he could beg a little food from. He noticed Danny, with an unexpected sadness in his eyes as he sat on the bench next to a raucously laughing Jackson, but ruled him out – Danny was a health nut. Greenberg would have something, he always had a locker full of snacks, but who knew where Greenberg's hands had been? Stiles really didn't want to take the risk. Isaac was sat in the corner, a note ready in his hand for when Coach came to inspect the room; Isaac never partook in gym. Stiles absently wondered if the guy had horrific scarred legs or something, he had never seen much actual flesh, he was always bound up in tight fitting jeans and sweaters that came past his hands. But those thoughts were forgotten when he saw the brown stick of heaven in between his fingers.

"Hey Isaac -" Stiles shouted across the locker room, eyeing the chocolate in his hands, "- can I have a piece?"

The flush that spread across Isaac's cheeks was so red it looked like he was on fire, "Fuck you." He mumbled into his phone, fingers suddenly losing all the dexterity they had displayed as he tapped away on the keypad a few seconds earlier.

"Hey, wait!" Stiles tripped over his own feet in his haste to catch Isaac, who had pulled up his hood to mask the blush and was stalking out of the room.

"It's not funny." Isaac growled when Stiles caught up to him out in the hall, suddenly not so shy, pushing Stiles so he stumbled slightly. "How did you know?" Stiles hardly recognised this Isaac, the guy was always so quiet and reserved, the permanently bored expression never changing.

"Know _what?! _I wanted some freaking chocolate. I only followed you to see why you were upset, but now I wished I hadn't. Back off a little, okay?" Isaac took a step back, his expression twisted into confusion even more than Stiles' was. Without another word he shoved the chocolate into Stiles' hands and practically ran, Stiles would later say it was a power-walk of sorts, down the hallway, flooding the narrow space with light as he pushed open an emergency door and fled into the parking lot beyond.

The glimpse of the outside almost forced Stiles into a panic attack, there, stood nonchalantly in the middle of the parking lot with no thought for the rain, was Derek. Derek Hale – _there! _All the efforts he had strived towards to block him out for the past few hours were forgotten, instead imagining him licking chocolate off Stiles' naked body. When he blinked he was gone, but the image of a smirk was firmly emblazoned into Stiles brain, his shorts tenting slightly as he licked his lips and tried to figure out if he was going insane.

"Fuck my life..." He finally mumbled, hoping none of the boys, who were pouring from the locker room at the sound of the fire alarm blaring through the school, noticed his crotch, all of them cheering and whooping at the thought of a fire sending them home. Stiles stood among the throng, his mouth hanging open, unfortunately not full of chocolate, the brown bar of heaven forgotten as his mind flew in all directions; wondering why Isaac was so strange; thinking how he could win Lydia over; and wondering why, of all people, he was completely and totally enamoured with Derek Hale.


	2. Family Business

**II**

**Derek**

Derek rolled over, wiping sweat from his brow before pushing the blonde away with one arm and reaching for a cigarette with the other. The carton was half empty; he made a mental note to stop off for some more on his way to the deal.

"C'mere baby." The blonde purred in his ear, nipping at his lobe and running her fingers over his back. He growled, shrugging her off as he lit the cigarette and took a long, deep drag. It didn't do much for him, never had – he supposed it was to do with his body being different from everyone else – but he had fallen into the habit last year.

"I'll call you." He told her, getting up from the edge of the bed and slipping into his jeans. It wasn't a complete lie, she had been fun, he'd call her if he was lonely again. She was running around the room naked save for his boxers, leaving him to go commando as she spewed about how it had been the best night of her life and how he was just _so _good in bed, but he wasn't listening, finding his shirt, shoes, and jacket and getting out of there before she tried to tempt him into round two.

He had work to do.

The Camaro was parked on a side street a ways from her apartment building, it would have been hard to find if the rain effected him like it did everyone else. It made him feel clean, the water running down his face and soaking through his shirt, gave him a new energy for the day ahead. It was going to be a long one.

The streets were packed, people seemed to lose the ability to drive properly when it rained, but he was still at the meet twenty minutes before he needed to be. He sat in the car and chain smoked, listening to the rain bouncing against the roof till a rap on the window jolted him from his thoughts.

"Nice morning." Laura said, hopping into the passenger seat. She was dressed much the same as him; blacks and leathers.

"Laura." He said in greeting.

"What's happened to your face? Your latest bang not up to par?" Laura took a cigarette from the fresh carton he had picked up on the way and lit it, filling the car with even more smoke. "Why do you still smoke this shit? It tastes like, I dunno, nothing." With disdain she stubbed it out and slammed the ash tray shut, proceeding to pick absently at her red painted nails as the minutes ticked by. She always liked them to be at least a few minutes late.

"We should go." Derek took the bag from the back seat and stepped out into the rain, locking the door once he saw Laura beside him, her head held high. They headed into the hotel with rain dripping from their hair and their leather jackets, yet none of the comfortable, well dressed guests mulling about their business in the lobby said anything to them; there was something about them that made people avert their eyes.

It was a grand hotel, the oldest in Beacon Hills, with mouldings from another era on the walls and a sophisticated air of a more lavish time. Derek and Laura stuck out among the cashmere and pearls sort of clientèle the place favoured, yet they kept their heads up, exchanging glances between one another as they headed to the elevators.

"_Try _and keep it together, no running your mouth off like last time." Laura told him, pressing the button for the lower level.

Derek snorted at her words, "You're the one who needs to keep your mouth in check, you screwed up last months shipment when you ripped out his throat." Laura was a wild one, often ruining their deals if she was cheated by even a few pounds of product; she couldn't seem to get it into their head that it was normal for suppliers to skim a little off the top.

"No one screws me." Her words were like ice. If she wasn't his sister he would have shivered and backed away, but he knew her well enough that she didn't scare him; most of the time. Laura took the lead this time, walking a step ahead of Derek, silencing the screaming chef with a glare as they walked through the kitchens, pushing through to a storage area and out back to the cargo bay. Three figures were waiting for them with a bulging black carry-all.

"Laura, is it? You sure are a looker." The tallest of the three stepped up to speak, his face pockmarked and lined, but still with a certain handsomeness to it.

"Can't say the same for you." She countered, signalling to Derek to dump the bag he was carrying. He dropped it in the middle of the two opposing groups, stepping back to stand behind Laura without a word.

A blonde girl stepped up from her position lounging against the wall and opened the bag up, counting out the stacks of bills with agonising leisure. Derek's heart was beating a little faster, like it always did, but he kept his face as impassive as Laura's.

"It's there." She told the tall man, zipping the back up and throwing it over her shoulder.

"Now you." Laura told him, nodding to Derek to go and check the bag that a third figure, a short black man with a wild mane of hair, had just dumped a few feet away.

His sister and the tall man, who was chewing at his nails disinterestedly, exchanged banter while Derek counted, but he hardly listened, counting out forty-eight bags of colourful pills. He gave Laura the look.

"You trying to fuck us?" She asked, taking a step forward. Derek could see her red painted nails extend slightly, the paint chipping as the claws started to come out.

"It's there. Your boy just can't count." He laughed with the blonde girl, while the black man took a step back, his hand reaching down the back of his jeans. Derek knew trouble was coming.

Laura was in front of Derek now, her head tilted to one side and a smile on her lips, "You're new, so you probably don't know how I deal with people who try to fuck me over. Hand over the rest."

"What ya' gonna do about it? Your little bodyguard here -" He gestured to Derek, who was rising from the ground, kicking the bag behind him and taking a step closer to the blonde, "- gonna hurt me? This seems fair to me. Walk away, Laura."

"I'll give you one more chance to -"

"- Fuck you, you little bitch." He snorted, turning to the SUV parked beyond the cargo bay doors. He never saw her coming, her hands closing around his throat quick as a flash, nails extending into the skin.

The blonde stepped forward, reaching for a gun in her purse, but Derek knocked her easily aside as a mangled cry went up from the tall man, blood spurting onto the floor as Laura tore out his throat. The black man panicked and ran, dropping his gun and scrambling over a crate in his haste.

"Get him." Laura said softly, picking blood out of her nails as she stepped across the room, blood pooling around her as she stabbed them through the blonde's chest.

"It'll be easier if you don't run," Derek cried out to the black man, who was running through the rain with nowhere to go, his escape haltered by the gates which had been closed behind his own team. Derek dragged him, kicking and screaming, by the back of the collar and into the cargo bay. Laura was licking blood from her fingers.

She gave him just the most cursory of glances, "Finish him."

"Laura – I -" Derek panicked again; he hated when things went this way. Laura killed without a thought, anyone who messed with her ending up dead. He didn't like things to go that way, hated it in fact.

"I won't tell anyone I swear, please – I'm only twenty, I just came along to make some extra money – please..." He was fumbling with Derek's arm, which was holding him in place across his throat.

"Derek?" Laura looked up, her eyes baring into him. "Can I still trust you?"

He knew he had to do it. Laura wouldn't let him get away with leaving another one for her again. She had been furious when he purposely let a young girl escape on one of his first deals. To pay him back she had hunted down the girl and brought her, along with her mother, to their house, making him watch as she killed them, telling him it was his fault the mother had to die.

He snapped his neck in one swift movement, glancing up to see Laura looking bored.

"Come on, little brother." She fished out any valuables they carried and loaded the bodies into the back of the SUV which she would no doubt now be taking for herself, just as soon as Deets worked his magic on the plates and colouring to make it unrecognisable.

The floor was stained with blood, but she didn't worry about it. The hotel wouldn't want it getting out that two bloodstains were discovered in their cargo bay; it was a respectable place, everything would be covered up. Just as Laura planned.

* * *

By the time they arrived home the bodies were already stagnating, the heat of the car bringing out a putrid smell that made Derek want to throw up. He slung the girl over his shoulder, while she took the tall man and the black man, dragging them along the floor by their limbs without a care.

Relentless rain that had showered Beacon Hills for the past week had made the vegetable patch soft, the mud came up easily as they started to dig. He wondered how many bodies were down here as he uprooted a turnip and a locket that had probably wormed it's way through the mood from another of Laura's victims. With certainty he knew it was no longer in the single digits.

At first he had been horrified, but she justified it to him by explaining how they had screwed her over, besides, she would say, they were just drug dealers, scum. It didn't seem to matter that she was a dealer herself. It was the kids that were the worst, the black boy who claimed he was just out to make some extra cash. He could have been lying, sure, but it was still hard.

The carrots and turnips he had displaced were replanted over the blonde girls body, soon ready to be eaten; their vegetable patch was the most well nourished in Beacon Hills. Laura told him it was just another part of life, the scum died and the minerals of their bodies were planted in the soil to give the numerous plants, vegetables, and fruits that grew all around him a new vigour.

He went back to the car and grabbed the two black carry-all's once they were done, dumping them at her feet in the kitchen. She pressed a searing mug of coffee into his hands and sat down at the kitchen table to count, pulling her laptop forward and typing away at some unseen spreadsheets.

"Derek, hey. Derek!" He had been daydreaming about his mother and father, pushing them back when she snapped him awake with a click of her fingers.

"Huh?"

"Wanna go out tonight? Peter's opening a new club." How could she think about going out after killing three people? They were hardly innocent, but they were still _people. _"You might be busy anyway, with our cash I and the money we found in their car -" She referenced the ten grand they had came across in the trunk of the SUV, "- I can get something better. We're branching out."

"Branching out?" Derek was confused, they already had a firm hold on the club scene in Beacon Hills and the six neighbouring towns, as well as a small presence in Sacramento.

"Kids."

"No." Derek replied, quick as a flash. Even quicker she was up from her chair, the nails – paint now chipped away and stained with blood instead – coming forward to dig at his neck.

"Yes. Nothing heavy, just E." She was astride him, her nose just inches from his face, sniffing at the scent of blood and rain and dirt that was all over him. He thought she smelt like corpses, like death.

"I'll look a little obvious, don't you think?" He asked quietly, wincing as he swallowed and his adams apple came dangerously close to a claw.

"Figure it out. Find a kid. You're not going to defy me, are you?" A small smile was playing on her lips. A nagging feeling in his gut told him she probably wanted him to defy her; Laura was always bored, and loved to put people in line.

"No." He managed, his voice rising with the growl in his throat.

"Get going." If he didn't still have his pride he would have ran from the house, but he walked instead, careful steps to the back door and around to where her red convertible, the roof up to keep out the rain, was waiting. The Camaro was still parked outside the hotel.

An email from Laura came through to his phone, reading it as he drove. It listed her demands for the newest dealer she wanted. It also said she never wanted to meet them, and never wanted them to know she even existed. It amazed him that she was so cautious at times, while at others she'd kill without a care for the consequences.

Beacon Hills High School loomed up before him, lights blazing in the windows to keep away the rain and darkness. He could see kids laughing and smiling, but none of them would do, he needed someone else. For a while he just sat in the car, using his extra senses to watch students as they went about their business. No one stood out, no one looked like they could do what he and Laura did.

He got out and walked around the parking lot absently, thinking of how he could broach the subject to someone, _'Hi I want you to be a drug dealer. I have to tell you me and my sister have both murdered people who screwed us over, and you may have to do the same.' _It occurred to him then that whoever he chose might not _have _to kill. They wouldn't be dealing with suppliers or going to meets, he would just give them the E to sell to other students. Suddenly the list wasn't so barren, he could think of a lot of suitable kids, Jackson, Greenberg, even Scott, they could all _do _it, but they weren't the best option, not really.

He and Laura had hired numerous dealers to work for them, trying to lighten their own load so they could actually enjoy all the money they were raking in, but Laura always either; got bored and went back out anyway; or killed their dealers for screwing up or skimming off the top.

Someone new was needed, someone who people didn't know. It would be different this time, he knew it would be. Laura wasn't dealing with them any more, possibly the wisest move she'd ever made. Derek would be good to whoever he chose, would take a kid and make them into someone everyone at their school wanted to know. The money wasn't half bad, too. A blonde figure burst from a door in front of him, not noticing Derek at first, his hood up against the rain, muttering profanities. He saw the most annoying kid in town down the hallway – Stiles, shooting him a smirk before he followed the blonde across the parking lot.

Whoever he was, he got one point for storming out of school in the middle of class, another for the pretty coarse language he was muttering to himself, a third for being tall enough to look down on most people, and a forth for the scowl he gave Derek when he grabbed his shoulder.

"Get the fuck off, St -" His words fell flat, though his face was still a mask of anger, "Oh. Fuck you too."

"Do you want a job?" Derek blurted out, turning and seeing a teacher hanging from a second story window, shouting for the kid to get back inside.

"A job? Is this a joke?" He pushed against Derek's chest, turning to leave the parking lot.

"Meet me in the old clearing on Friday if you want a job," The old clearing was the first spot that came into his head; it was where Laura had first told him what she did and why she did it, and everyone in town knew it, "easy money, minimal work."

"I – fuck you." Derek saw the moment of weakness in his eyes, he knew he was thinking about it.

"Be there at half nine." Derek called out as the boy jumped onto an old, rusty bike and roared off into the rain. He knew he would come, they always did. Though if Laura showed up, it was questionable if he would get out alive.


	3. Reconnaissance

**III**

**Derek**

Derek drove back to his and Laura's house with the windows open, letting the rain hit him and damage the leather of Laura's seats. It was the least she deserved for killing people for no good reason. And for making him drag another kid into things.

This one seemed decent enough, but he would need to check up on him, and that could be a pain if you didn't have any patience; something he lacked, and Laura had exactly none of.

"Peter's setting up a meet for you tonight – at Moonlight." Laura told him as he walked back into the kitchen. She was still at the table, surrounded by money and bags of pills, putting it all into her little online inventories.

"Okay," He grunted in response, grabbing a beer from the fridge before he joined her on the opposite side of the table, getting his laptop from his backpack on the way. "Who's my contact?" Derek asked.

"Some chick." Laura replied with a shrug. "Peter didn't say much, you know him, but apparently she's no pushover." She hardly looked up from her work, it was all she seemed to do. Despite all the money they made she never gave herself a moments peace, except on Friday nights when she picked up some guy and brought him back for her weekly bang.

Derek only replied with a nod, opening up Facebook and creating a new account, complete with a stock photo of a teenage girl at a party. It was a good way to find out about people; teenagers were quick to accept one of their own, but not so quick to accept his own profile, complete with a brooding photo of himself which Laura had said made him look like a serial killer. Fuck her.

"Who did you choose?" Laura asked, putting down a fresh mug of coffee and giving him a kiss on the cheek as she peered over his shoulder.

"Some angry blonde guy, can't seem to find him anywhere though." Derek grunted, taking a sip of coffee and wondering if Laura had bipolar disorder.

"Name?" Laura asked, switching to the seat next to him and bringing her laptop over. Pills and money fell to the floor and scattered everywhere, but she didn't make any move to pick them up. When it really came down to it, Derek thought, Laura seemed not to care an inch for the drug trade. She was all about Pack, about family. But they needed money. Being a wolf didn't exactly pay the bills, and the thought of he or Laura serving coffee or sorting stock was a joke.

"I dunno. He was angry, running out of school. I just told him to meet me." Derek said, praying she didn't ask where or when; she would probably show up and either scare the guy half to death, or actually kill him.

"I'll just look for your type." Laura grinned, clicking away as she browsed the friends lists of Beacon Hills High School students.

"He wasn't my type." Derek grunted, wondering how she knew. She always fucking knew everything.

She raised her eyebrows, tilting the screen so he could see the picture, "How about this guy?" A dirty-blonde guy was on the screen, with an inviting smile and deep blue eyes.

"Yes. But it's not him." Derek relented, knowing she would just torture him until he admitted he had a thing for blondes. So what?

"This one?" A girl with long, silvery-blonde hair was staring back at him from the monitor.

"Yes, I already said yes, Laura. I have a thing for blondes, you know I do, okay?"

She threw him another grin, giving his arm a reassuring stroke, "I just wanted to hear you say it. Why am I always so right?" She was still giggling into her coffee every now and then, turning the screen to show all manner of blondes.

Derek had stumbled onto Scott's profile, reading a hazy list of interests and a series of status updates about how much he loved Allison. He shook his head. Laura had bitten Scott in one of her little crazes, and had tried to drag the kid into their pack, but Derek had managed to persuade her to relent, showing her how useless the guy was. Scott wasn't a total basket case, with work he could have made a good wolf, but it wasn't right to embroil kids in their life, at least not unwilling kids. He felt bad enough about making this new blonde guy a dealer for them, never mind helping Scott to be both wolf and dealer.

Soon enough he was on Stiles' page, unable to keep the frown off his face as he read through the almost-witty information section, and looked over his list of interests, all of which seemed to be jokes. He knew for a fact Stiles didn't like 'Justin Beiber' or 'Just Bieber is perfect!' seriously.

"What are you smiling at?" Laura asked, leaning across so she could look at the screen. "Changing your type?"

"No," Derek grunted. He hadn't even realised he had been smiling. Stiles was infuriating, always getting himself involved on the few occasions Derek had tried to show Scott the ropes of being a wolf when Laura was out of town.

"Oh, now _this guy _is your type." Laura turned the screen to him, and there he was.

"That's him." Derek said, typing in the name on his own computer to get the page up. Isaac Lahey.

"Do you always think with your dick?" Laura asked, starting up another batch of coffee.

"He was the first guy to come out, it's not my fault he happens to be my type." He replied, looking through the guys pictures. There were only two, but he had to admit the guy looked cute in them. Shy, but cute.

"Right," Laura began, her eyebrows raised, "I bet you waited around outside the school for hours just to find some hot guy you could bang."

"I don't need to 'find' anyone. I do well enough on my own." He continued looking through the guys profile, seeing he only had thirty friends added, none of which he had ever spoken to online, at least not visibly.

"Well that's the understatement of the year. How many fuck-buddies do you have in your phone?" Another coffee was sat down beside him. Laura clicked off Isaac's profile and started emailing someone instead.

"Dunno. Enough." He actually had about fifteen or so people he could count on for sex, all of them not looking for anything more. That was boring to him, he liked a challenge, but it wasn't a good idea to just throw people away. A man had needs after all. "Can you do that hacking thing?" Derek asked.

"I'm not Deets." She gave him an airy wave of her hand. "I think I might have a new contact for us."

"So soon?" Derek asked, pulling up Deets' email address and reeling off a quick request for him to get into the BHHS records of Isaac Lahey.

"The one you're meeting tonight."

"I thought that was just a one-time meet?" He and Laura often did quick trades with passing dealers or those who were branching out; they had to, Laura killed most of their regular suppliers.

"So did I, but Peter says they might be staying longer than expected. Something about Beacon Hills being a 'home away from home' for them. Why is he always so fucking cryptic?" Derek knew how much Peter infuriated her, but she had a soft spot for him too. After all, he was family. Laura was all about family.

An email came through from Deets, no words on the screen, just an attachment of the guys grades and the school counsellor records.

_'Suffers from bouts of depression. Possible damaged home life. Unresponsive to questioning, few friends – if any. Suggest extensive guidance counselling but student unwilling to participate.' _The psychiatrists notes, sent over from the hospital, were a good sign. It would be that much easier to tempt him into things if his life was shit. Dealers, especially kid dealers, always ended up with a good life; as long as they didn't get caught or piss off Laura.

_'Very bad attitude. Minimal participation in class discussions – tends to sleep more than he works. Suggest detention and counselling for his attitude problems.' _What was with fucking teachers and counselling, Derek wondered as he read the teachers notes. It was easy to get a picture of the guy. Smart as shit and bored out of his mind with school. His grades were an A average, despite the notes from the teachers saying how he didn't participate. There was a very snooty one from a substitute teacher, suggesting expulsion till he got his act together.

"This could be our guy." Derek told Laura, letting her read over the notes. She had a smile on her face.

"Sounds just like me and you when we were at school." Laura said. It was true enough, both of them had hated school; they shouldn't have to deal with education, they were fucking wolves for god sake.

Clicking through a few pages of invites on the BHHS kids with the most friends, he finally came across 'Greenberg's Party!'. It was perfect. Friday night, and every fucking kid in town seemed to be going. Even Scott and Stiles were on the list.

"I'm going out." Derek said, getting up from the kitchen and loading his laptop into the backpack.

"Reconnaissance?" She asked.

"Yep." Without another word he marched into the rain and started walking into town. Laura's car was decent, but he wanted his own.

* * *

Derek had been sat outside Isaac's house for six hours, and the kid had only left his room twice. Once to eat dinner downstairs, which Derek watched through the window. They hardly spoke to each other, except for the father to shout when Isaac left some food, or to shout again when he didn't clean his plate properly. Derek laughed as his father smashed the plate instead; not exactly a good solution.

Isaac had gone back to his room then. It was directly above the kitchen and had two windows which he didn't seem to care about pulling the blinds over. He could see him perfectly with his heightened senses, watching as he just mulled around in his room. For two hours he didn't move from his computer, looking through online articles and watching videos, videos that eventually led the guy to porn.

Derek felt like a peeping tom or something when he started jerking off, pulling his laptop and reading through a few emails from Peter instead. He glanced up after fifteen minutes, quickly looking away when he saw the guy was still at it.

He had left the room for the second time when he was finally done, to clean himself off, and must have taken a shower while he was there, for when he returned his hair was wet. For a friendless, seemingly shy kid, he had no qualms about his body, walking around his room naked for the rest of the night, and jerking off _again _before he went to bed. Derek felt like such a creep it made him squirm, but he had learnt some useful stuff.

Clearly the guy had no or little friends. His phone had beeped twice, both times from the phone company about bills; no messages or phone calls from friends. He had hardly typed when he had been on the computer, and the way it was arranged let Derek look at the screen; no social networking sites.

It was also obvious there was no relationship in his life; the jerking off twice was a pretty big hint, but also because there were no pictures on his walls, no texts to a boyfriend or girlfriend, no emails, nothing.

By the time Derek drove away, headed for his meeting at Moonlight, Peter's new club, he was confused about his choice. He had thought the kid seemed angry and just mad at the entire world, but while there was a definite anger in him, proven by school, the guy seemed pretty laid back when he was at home. It was too late to do anything about it now, he'd picked him, and whether Isaac liked it or not, he was about to be thrown into a world he had _no _idea about.


End file.
